


The Great Mud-Dunking Tussle of 1978 (and other tales)

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-12
Updated: 2005-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>January 1978, and Sirius is visited by An Idea with big plans for the day.  This is the story of the chaos that ensued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Great Mud-Dunking Tussle of 1978 (and other tales)

There were (depending on whom you asked) between twelve and eighty-seven separate exasperating things about Sirius Black. Only one of those things ever gave Sirius himself pause – the fact that Splendid Ideas regularly came to him in his dreams.

To the more mischief-challenged students at Hogwarts, such a situation would have been a welcome affliction – mischief was, after all, the hallmark of utter cool, and to come up with mischief _while sleeping_ was a talent beyond measure. Many would also have signed over a small fortune (or, failing that, a limb) to entertain an idea even half as creative as those inside the Black mind when it came to birthday presents, or memorable spring afternoons, or new twists on the art of skinny-dipping.

But to Sirius, it was just plain annoying.

There was for example the chilly January morning (seventh year, three days before everyone else was due to return to Hogwarts) when A Most Splendid Idea arrived without invitation. As with most Ideas, it announced itself in typical showy fashion, dancing across Sirius's dreams in bold technicolor, and employing a back-up chorus of singing Erumpents.

Sirius, curled contentedly around the peaceful form of one gently slumbering Remus Lupin, whimpered fitfully in his sleep.

The Idea was not distracted. When Erumpents alone could not coax Sirius awake, the Idea grew six pairs of legs, donned a sequined jacket and top hat, and began to high-step across his imagination. The legs (being new) were uncoordinated, and several kicked him hard in the region of his higher motor functions.

It was, all in all, a miserable way to wake up.

For one shining moment, as he blinked grumpily at the morning light pouring into the dorm, there was chance to soak up the details of waking beside his boyfriend. He could glory in each soft movement Remus made as he breathed, could nuzzle close and inhale the warm, musky smell of Remus's skin, could chart every pleasant place their bodies were touching, melded together by affection and the lingering memory of sticky exhaustion. There was a long, secret moment where he could close his eyes and let his heart bloom, fingers spread against Remus's stomach, content to simply hold him close and doze again.

But then The Idea coughed noisily at the back of his brain (without any of the discretion it seemed to believe it possessed), sending anticipation flooding through his veins, and beginning the earnest work of shredding his limited patience into ribbons of doom.

The Idea was simple (for a high-stepping, sequined, all-Erumpent-singing notion) and really rather sweet. The Idea pointed out that this was the last Christmas break Sirius would spend with Remus at Hogwarts, the last time they could be guaranteed solitude and peace and uninterrupted time together. It was a moral imperative (stated The Idea in large, neon letters) that Sirius dedicate himself to making this day One To Remember. It should be Significant and Extraordinary and something they could carry with them For All Time. It should involve making Remus laugh (if at all possible, because nothing was as satisfying as hearing that rare sound), perhaps speaking to one another in a profound and adult manner, and (scarily) a dose of the thing generally referred to as romance.

('Romance' appeared in Sirius's mind in black spiky letters wrapped in barbed wire. This was fitting, as he hadn't a clue how you defined the notion, and felt it likely he could injure himself in the attempt).

Sirius pressed himself closer to Remus, until every possible inch of skin between them touched, and advised The Idea to go away and leave them be. After all, he asked, was there anything better than the opportunity to breathe in this scent and listen to this contented heartbeat and store up such moments against the days when it would be impossible to enjoy such stolen time?

The Idea was not convinced. The Idea snapped open a folding chair, took out a newspaper, and settled in for the long haul.

Sirius was able to ignore the buzzing in his ears and the excited race of his heart for exactly seventeen minutes – long enough for The Idea's minions to not only shred every ounce of his patience, but to soak the shreds in paste and mould a paper maché sculpture of the Acropolis from the remnants of his dignity. Sighing deeply, (and after cursing his brain, his imagination, and his magic) Sirius nuzzled behind Remus's ear with his nose. "Hey, Moony," he whispered, hugging him tightly in counterpoint to the gentle tone of his voice.

Remus made a faint, sleepy sound of protest.

"Moony, wake-up."

Remus seemed to sink further into his pillows.

"Moony, c'mon, I have an _idea_."

"Nnnnnnnh." That little whimper had sounded distinctly disappointed.

Sirius sighed. "It's a _good_ idea. I promise."

Bothered from deep sleep to the upper echelons of barely awake, Remus wriggled in Sirius's arms until the latter loosened his hold enough for real movement between them. Remus shifted onto his stomach, and turned his face toward the source of his irritation. "Mmmm?" he mumbled, eyes still closed.

Sirius felt a familiar and delicious shiver of pleasure run through him, and counted himself blessed among men to wake next to this tousled boy. "Morning," he whispered, unable to speak louder for the uncomfortable and emasculating sentiments that had a vicious grip on his vocal cords.

Remus's eyes fluttered open as he groaned. "S'too early."

"For what?" Sirius asked, running the pad of one finger over Remus's forehead and down the side of his face.

"For _talking_." Remus closed his eyes again. "Shhh."

Sirius felt The Idea prod him none too gently in the cerebral cortex with an umbrella of undisclosed origin. "But Moony," he pleaded very softly. "The idea – it's eating my brain." (Between two slices of white bread with just a dash of mustard, if it came down to details).

Remus made a small noise of amusement. "Poor brain."

The half smile playing about Remus's lips drove parts of Sirius utterly mad, and his cock twitched as Remus nuzzled deeper into his pillow. While being turned on by the slightest thing Remus did was a fairly usual circumstance, it was definitely not on The Idea's list of things to do. The Idea frowned and placed its hands on its hips and made discouraging noises as Sirius let his finger drift over Remus's cheek again, pulling another unconscious half-smile from the drowsy boy. The sight of that smile circumvented The Idea completely, and went straight to Sirius's groin.

And all of a sudden, despite The Idea's splendid list of reasons to get out of bed and make a start on The Day To Remember (reasons written in purple ink on sky blue parchment) Sirius felt there was nothing more important in the world than to shift closer and kiss the skin of Remus's neck. Moving slowly, Sirius rubbed his nose gently into the crook of his boyfriend's shoulder, replacing his nose with the very tip of his tongue as Remus sighed. Emboldened, Sirius traced deft patterns all the way to the lobe of Remus's ear, crafting damp pictures of flowers and a couple of stars, anything that came to mind to prolong this delicious play.

Remus squirmed slightly, murmuring a faint noise of pleasure. "Y'not bein' fair," he whispered.

"I rarely am." Sirius placed soft, sweet kisses to the warm skin below Remus's jaw.

"M'not even ' _wake_ yet."

Sirius bit gently on his boyfriend's earlobe. "I know."

Remus shivered and gasped very slightly. Shifting onto his side, he inched as close as he could, tucking his head beneath Sirius's chin and sighing gently as they fitted together, two pieces of the same whole. "Really so tired," he murmured.

Sirius felt some deep ache ripple through his chest at the gesture, an ache that only fueled the throbbing of his persistent erection. Their bodies flush against one another, there was no distraction from the fact that Remus was also hard, that with the tiniest shift of his hips Sirius could send delight sparking over their skin, telegraphed by bone and muscle until even The Idea paid attention and absently dropped the purple-inked list.

Wrapping an arm around Remus, Sirius rocked gently forward, motion that was exquisite but undemanding. With them both on their sides, there was no means to find proper leverage, to escalate this deep, languorous warmth into something fiery and sharp and _quick_. This slow-building pleasure was something new, something languid and addictive that possessed the mysterious power to soothe even as it teased. Sirius privately decided that it was his favorite thing ever (an award he distributed roughly every half an hour) as it caused that elusive half-smile to keep flickering over Remus's face.

Sirius felt drugged, too enthralled to push away the fabric of their pajama bottoms lest the movement intrude upon the delicious frustration building between them. He wanted to watch as Remus, still caught somewhere between waking and dreaming, responded to his touch. He spread his hand wide against Remus's back, and smiled softly as Remus mirrored the action. The ache low in his belly flared with sudden heat, spinning through his limbs and setting fires beneath every inch of his skin, an irresistible smoldering that sparked with each move he made. He loved this feeling, a free-fall toward oblivion with Remus as his only anchor, the latter's breath chasing unevenly across his skin as he trembled with need. This rocking was intoxicating, as were the fragile moans that began to spill from Remus's lips, the breathless little sighs and curious shivers that ran over them both from head to foot as they shifted and shook and pressed against one another. Sirius watched, entranced. He never tired of this, the way Remus's head would tip back, exposing the long line of his throat as he edged closer and closer to coming, the way he'd only be able to meet Sirius's gaze for a moment before biting his lip and groaning with need. Every shift, every murmur, every shudder that ran through Remus was a unique language, spoken only in moments like this, and Sirius had studied each phrase like no other lesson in his life. He watched and waited, his own body heating with every flex of Remus's fingers against his skin, and as he caught the faint sound of breath catching on the sharp edges of building desperation, Sirius dropped his hand to skim over the small of Remus's back. His fingers slipped beneath pajamas to smooth gently over the arse below and Remus arched, his breath stuttering and slipping away from his control as, with a desperately shocked moan of " _Sirius_!" he came. Sirius felt his own breath leave him as Remus bucked, shuddered and gasped with surprise. And as his boyfriend's body stilled on one last, broken moan, Sirius felt his own body pause then shatter, felt the warmth of his orgasm spread between them and his eyes slam closed.

It was a long time before either boy spoke, before words could replace the language of fingertips and soft hands smoothing over sensitive, trembling skin. "Moony . . . " breathed Sirius at last, utterly undone.

"That was . . . " Remus left the thought unfinished, tucking his head back under Sirius's chin.

"Yeah." Sirius concentrated on the elusive act of breathing. "That was . . . "

"Mmmhmmmm."

Silence, until The Idea waved one hand from where it lay, prone and breathless, on the floor of Sirius's mind. "My idea . . . " Sirius began.

"Was that it?" asked Remus.

Sirius gave a soft huff of laughter. "No."

"It would've been a good one."

"The Idea is that . . . " Sirius took a breath as The Idea picked itself up, dusted itself off, and produced a helpful set of flash cards as a memory aid. "TodayshouldbeSignificantandExtraordinaryandMemorableforAllTime," Sirius blurted.

Remus nuzzled closer. "I'd say we're off to a splendid start," he offered, amused.

~*~

After consulting with The Idea in the shower, Sirius concluded that the first step toward making the day Significant, Extraordinary, and all other good things was to take a walk in the rain. The Idea had been very specific on this. Rain was, The Idea informed him, terribly romantic when you had nowhere particular to be and nothing particular to do. It was the kind of thing you did when you were young and carefree and it was generally credited with inducing general happiness, loving smiles, and delighted laughter.

Sirius privately thought The Idea had gone clean around the twist on this one, but conceded all the same. A bloke didn't mess with Ideas. Ideas were known to go on strike if questioned, and he remembered one particularly nasty week during second year when there'd been actual picket lines in his brain.

He informed Remus of the plan at breakfast.

"Rain?" Remus swallowed the toast he'd been chewing and blinked at him, puzzled. "You want to go walking in the rain?"

"Absolutely." (Ideas were generally happiest if you sounded enthusiastic, Sirius had learned early in life).

Remus tipped his head back to stare at the enchanted ceiling of the almost deserted Great Hall. "It's drizzling and miserable out there," he said, gesturing vaguely at the clouds scuttling overhead. "And it'll be cold."

Sirius sighed, but was no raw beginner when it came to convincing others that his Ideas were brilliant. "Where's your sense of adventure, Moony? It's Scotland at its finest! Mist and heather and breezes that invigorate – it's positively poetic."

"You're confusing poetry with consumption."

"A person doesn't become consumptive from walking in the rain, you great ninny."

"No, but they do get _wet_ , don't they? Wet when they could be dry, could be curled up in front of the fire with . . . "

"If you say 'book' I will give you consumption with my own damn wand."

"I was going to say 'without clothes' but if you have other things in mind . . . "

Sirius blinked, distracted by the thought of light and shadow flickering over Remus's skin. "I uh . . . "

Remus licked marmalade from his fingers rather ostentatiously, and grinned as the blood drained from Sirius's face. "But if a walk in the rain is what you want, who am I to oppose it?"

Which is how, mused Sirius, it had come to this – standing in a muddy ditch at the Hogsmeade end of the Forbidden Forest (where it was less Forbidden and more Strongly Cautioned Against), soaked to the skin while thunder crashed overhead.

"Why are we doing this again?" asked Remus, yelling above the din of a full-fledged downpour.

Sirius blinked at him from under his sodden fringe, water running in rivulets down his face. "Because it's _romantic_ ," he explained, exasperated.

"Merlin, yes." Remus pushed his own hair away from his face as a fresh roll of thunder sounded overhead. There was something perilously close to murder in his eyes. "My ardor for you burns so brightly right now I can barely speak."

"Hey – you said you were having fun!"

"When we were out in the rain as opposed to this, this . . . " He gestured around them. ". . . _deluge_ requiring we be rescued by small fishing vessels!"

Sirius pffted. "Always with the exaggeration."

Remus underwent a series of (what appeared to be quite painful) emotional seizures. "Shit!" he managed at last, turning on his heel and plunging toward what was probably Hogsmeade.

"Remus!" Sirius stared mournfully at the departing figure of his boyfriend, while The Idea sighed and shook its head in dismay. This wasn't good, wasn't good at all. First, there was an angry Remus heading off into the woods, putting holly bushes, fallen branches, rabbit holes and slippery embankments between them. Second, there was an Idea not getting its way, sharpening all kinds of torturous pointy things in Sirius's imagination, ready to make the rest of his day uncomfortable in all manner of creative ways. Sirius stumbled blindly in the direction he thought Remus had gone, although he could no longer see him – could no longer see much at all considering the water dripping in his eyes, and the trees in his path, and the distracting sensation of icy raindrops trickling down his spine.

And then, suddenly, there was no more time to examine everything that was going wrong, because his foot was caught on something dastardly and unnoticed, and he was headed straight for the biggest, muddiest puddle he'd seen in all his days.

There was no escaping his end – Sirius fell, arms and legs sprawled inelegantly, face down in the water, coming up for air with mud up his nose, in his hair, and clinging to every item of clothing he wore.

"Hello," said a cheerful voice behind him.

Sirius stood gingerly and turned, wiping mud from his eyes. "Bastard," he said in a tone of voice he hoped was full of boding and menace.

Remus smiled pleasantly, his foot still in exactly the place it had been when he'd quite deliberately tripped his boyfriend. "Revenge is sweet."

"Why? Why would you do that? Why?" Sirius knew he must look the most pathetic figure imaginable, if The Idea's cackling at the back of his brain was anything to go by.

"I decided if I was going to be stuck out here in the middle of a sodding monsoon, I may as well have some fun," Remus replied.

"This is your idea of fun?"

"It is indeed." Remus was grinning now.

"I'm _filthy_."

"Yes, you are."

"I have mud in places no mud was _ever_ designed to go. I am breathing mud. I have _eaten_ mud. I may actually _excrete_ mud later today."

Remus shrugged, looking terribly pleased with himself. "Tragic," he said with a shit-eating grin.

Which was when Sirius made his move, launching himself at Remus, grabbing an arm, and yanking him off-balance. The splash the latter made as he landed arse-down in the puddle was perhaps the most satisfying thing Sirius had ever seen or heard.

Remus was gob-smacked. "You didn't."

Sirius grinned. "Oh but I did."

"Oh . . . " A lightning fast hand shot out and grabbed Sirius by the ankle, pulling hard.

"Y'git!" yelled Sirius as he fell for a second time, pausing for only a second before splashing filthy, muddy water in Remus's direction.

And thus began The Fight, the Wrestling Match of Champions, the Great Mud-Dunking Tussle of January 1978. By the battle's inglorious end there were cuts, abrasions and bruises where once there had been none, and mud upon mud in eyes, down shirts, and up trouser legs as far as it would go. Breathless and panting, the pair eyed each other, their laughter dying in slow, wheezing gasps as they eyed the damage they'd done. Sirius crawled over to where Remus sat and carefully styled the latter's muddy hair into a series of very Celtic-looking spikes.

"Do I look dashing?" Remus asked, wiping his muddy mouth on the back of his equally muddy sleeve.

"Positively breath-taking," grinned Sirius. "Fancy a shag?"

Remus laughed. "Can't say that I do."

"Dammit." Sirius grinned and stood again, wincing as he moved. "Lord, you're a pointy bastard. Those elbows . . . " He offered Remus his hand.

Remus took it, let Sirius pull him to his feet. "You should talk, you kicking little shit."

Sirius grinned. "I guess we're well-matched."

"I guess we are." Remus grinned back, surveying his unwholesome attire. "Think perhaps we should shower?"

Midday nakedness. Sirius wiggled an eyebrow – it was almost worth the prospect of washing twice in one day.

~*~

Sirius had imagined that drowsy sex, a walk in the rain, one singularly satisfying spell of mud-wrestling, and a long, hot shower (complete with extremely pleasant groping) would have added up to A Day To Remember For All Time.

The Idea, however, disagreed.

The Idea sat quietly by while mud was sluiced from hair and limbs, while warm hands stole over slippery skin to touch and pull and stroke and – _Remus! Oh . . ._ – coax pleasure from weary bodies, but it was simply biding its time. As soon as towels were slung around hips and warm, dry clothes plucked from trunks, it stood up and stretched, made a fortifying cup of tea, and began to stare meaningfully at Sirius Black.

Who swore gently, and came extremely close to giving it the finger.

Sirius ignored The Idea right through lunch, a spirited game of Wizard Chess, half an hour of trying to impersonate Australians (making Remus laugh hysterically as a result), and a two-hour nap (that he mostly spent awake, watching Remus sleep). Now, as Remus lounged by the common room fire, reading a book whose mere title was the stuff of Padfootian nightmares, Sirius wandered to the windows, and stared at the gathering twilight outside. _Alright then, you irritating lump_ , he said to The Idea. _What's next?_

The Idea held up a large piece of cardboard on which it had penciled the word 'FOOD.' (It had also begun a drawing of a Snitch mating with a Bludger, but you couldn't blame it – it had been waiting around a bloody long time).

Sirius waited. Knowing Ideas as he did, he knew that this was no simple suggestion that they find sustenance. Sure enough, after hoping to cause him anguish him by lounging around for several unhelpful moments, The Idea sighed, reached into its sequined jacket, and pulled out a new roll of parchment. With a flourish, The Idea let the parchment unfurl so that Sirius might know The Idea's genius and creativity:

ROMANTIC FOODS:

1) oysters  
2) whipped cream  
3) carrots

 _Carrots?_ Sirius asked.

The Idea waited.

 _Oh!_ Sirius blinked and tried not to make a face. _I think not._

4) strawberries  
5) chocolate  
6) strawberries covered in chocolate  
7) strawberries covered in chocolate and whipped cream

 _I sense a theme here_

8) Honeydukes best Love Love Me Dew Drops  
9) chocolate syrup  
10) pasta

 _Pasta?_

Sirius waved his hand in front of his face, as if The Idea and its pasta could be swatted away like a noisy midge. There was a better way to do this, to ensure Remus felt pampered and charmed and various other squishy sentiments. "Remus?" he asked, turning away from the window. "What's your favorite thing in the world for dinner?"

"Shepherd's Pie," came the reply.

Sirius looked at The Idea who looked back at him, helplessly. There was a moment's pause before the Idea whipped a can of spray paint from its pocket and wrote quickly on the walls of Sirius's mind, GET WINE.

 _Wine?_

WINE.

 _You're sure you didn't mean to spray 'Butterbeer' or 'Firewhiskey'? A nice shot of GoblinFyre?_

WINE.

 _We're_ men. _We sup on Glenquidditch and blood-curdling brews of Boddington's Bansheee. We don't drink_ wine.

WINE.

Sirius sighed, deeply troubled. He eyed The Idea speculatively. _You're even gayer than me, aren't you?_ he asked.

POSSIBLY. GET WINE.

Sirius complied.

It was an arduous task to convince the House Elves that there should be Shepherd's Pie for dinner, and that perhaps he could just have a tray for two, and oh, was that the stash of wine for when Ministry officials came to town because no one would miss a bottle or two of that very much, would they? But by six o'clock he had won every pitched battle, charmed and flattered his way through a number of quite terrible lies, and avoided (he was fairly sure) marriage to three of the four youngest House Elves (or was facing some awful trouble a week from Thursday).

He and Remus ate companionably in front of the fire, illuminated by firelight alone. Sirius had felt like the most tremendous girl as he extinguished the candles with a flick of his wand, but The Idea was very specific about what should and should not happen. Firelight, yes. Candles? No. Wine? Absolutely – and he hadn't the faintest idea why, when a good bit of GoblinFyre would have had them legless in half the time.

"You look lovely," murmured Remus, smiling stupidly over the top of his wine glass.

Sirius looked over his shoulder, fully expecting to see some other Gryffindor to have wandered back to school three days early. "Who?"

" _You_ , you daft nutter."

Sirius blinked, then smiled. "Oh. Me."

Remus nodded very slowly, as if his movements were slightly beyond his control. "You know what I love about you?"

Comprehension began to spark in the rear of Sirius's mind. Was _this_ the purpose of the wine, this slow undoing of his boyfriend's composure? If so . . . he mentally shook The Idea's hand and commended it on a splendid piece of work. Smiling slowly, Sirius arched an eyebrow. What would Remus love about him? "My manroot?" he asked.

The Idea slapped its forehead with one hand and fell over quite dramatically.

For his part, Remus made a strange gurgling sound, as if swallowing something pointy yet ticklish. "Um . . . " He sipped his wine, struggling to contain himself, coughing a little when the alcohol (headed down) met a laugh (headed up). "No."

Sirius frowned, looking down at himself, utterly bemused. "How can you not love my manroot?"

The Idea raised a hand clutching a small piece of white paper. SHUT UP, read the message.

"I just . . . " Remus covered his eyes with one hand. "Manroot? Really?"

"Splendid name, found in all the best Muggle literature."

The Idea rolled onto its back and made vague stabbing motions toward its heart.

"If by 'best' you mean Gardenia Noble's own attempts at writing fiction?"

Sirius looked very uncomfortable, distracted by an expiring or possibly suicidal Idea and Remus's own frown. "Haven't talked to Gardenia in, I don't know, months. Haven't so much as passed her in a corridor, never mind about talked to her after Runes, definitely didn't read that thing she'd written because she said there was dirty talk in it and I could get tips."

The Idea made choking noises.

"Sirius _Black_."

Sirius squirmed uncomfortably. "Can we get back to you being all smitten with me?"

"You read something written by _Gardenia Noble_?"

"Well she'd gone to the trouble of illustrating the cover and everything. He was a studly looking man."

"And no doubt very, very _straight_."

"He had a penis! It was referenced _several times_."

Remus took another fortifying sip from his glass. "Can I establish right now that you are not doing anything to me that came from such a source?"

The Idea, traitor that it was, gave Remus a resounding thumbs-up for delineating such a boundary.

"But . . . "

"Not one thing!"

Sirius pouted. "The girl in the story seemed pretty creative when it came to blow jobs."

Remus arched an eyebrow. "Have I ever complained that you're not?"

"Was just trying to _surprise_ you."

"I can safely say that when someone has my cock in their mouth, the last thing I'm looking for is a surprise."

Sirius sighed. "This was such a promising line of conversation, such a long time ago . . ."

"What do you expect when you tell me you're soliciting sex tips from Gardenia _Noble_?"

Sirius threw back the rest of his wine in several deep gulps. "You want dessert?" he said, glumly.

"There's dessert?"

"Mmmhmm." Sirius leaned forward and plucked the top from a covered dish to reveal a dozen strawberries, each wrapped in an individual and thoroughly decadent layer of rich, dark chocolate.

Remus whimpered. "Oh Merlin at a tea party."

The Idea lifted its head very slightly from the floor of Sirius's imagination.

Sirius tilted his head, not unlike a confused puppy. "You have a thing for strawberries?"

"A little." The stupid smile was back on Remus's face, and Sirius felt his spirits lighten. The Idea sat up, mopping its forehead with a handkerchief. "May I?"

Seeing Remus reach toward the dish, Sirius slapped his hand away. "Let me," he said, picking out a particularly beautiful sample by its stem.

Remus smiled, setting his glass aside and obligingly biting at the strawberry held just above his upturned lips. Sirius could tell the exact moment the taste exploded over his tongue like summer, the silken texture of the chocolate dissolving beneath the cool sweetness of the fruit. Remus made some tiny, fractured noise, and as he opened his eyes and saw Sirius watching him, blushed with embarrassment. "Hmmm?" he murmured, very quietly.

Sirius swept in like a windstorm, fingers tangling haphazardly in Remus's hair as he kissed him, tongue seeking out the taste that had provoked such a desperate sound of pleasure. "Love you, Moony," he whispered in a moment's breath, before Remus closed the space between them again, tongue chasing the essence of Sirius that made strawberries and chocolate a pale and shallow thing in comparison.

"Love you too," he murmured, smiling breathlessly in the second before the kiss broke over them once more, conjured by lips and teeth and touch and tongue to become something much greater than the sum of its parts.

And when Sirius eventually pulled away to run his hands through Remus's hair, it was with the expression of one who was slightly stunned. Smiling almost nervously, he shifted until he was beside Remus, and could lean his head on his shoulder. "You make me daft when we do that," he confessed a little tremulously.

Remus hummed with laughter, slipping an arm around his boyfriend. "Daft?"

"I don't know what to say after we . . . when we . . . when it's like _that_. I'm always scared I'm going to blurt out something embarrassing."

"That would be _so_ unlike you."

Sirius punched Remus in the thigh. "Sometimes I think . . . I mean I wonder." He cleared his throat as if about to confide some terrible secret. "I'm not always sure I act like a man's supposed to act. I'm not sure a man's supposed to feel the way I do. About you."

Remus turned and placed a kiss to the top of the dark head beside him. "And who are you measuring yourself against? Your dad? Your grandfather?"

Sirius considered the idea. "Maybe."

"Well let's take that notion outside and beat it senseless. I wouldn't have you become them for the world."

"Neither would I." Sirius's voice was suddenly small, the voice of one who was lost rather than the voice of the belligerent schoolboy most fellow students knew. They stared into the fire, caught for a time in a tangled web of thoughts that stretched back through troubled years.

Remus eventually shifted, as if deliberately pulling himself out of a reverie. "How's your other Idea?" he asked at last.

"Hmmm?"

"The Idea that came to you this morning?"

Sirius sat up a little. "I think it's . . . " He searched his mind, found The Idea packing parchment, the umbrella and a sequined top hat into a battered suitcase. The Idea nodded toward him, picked up the bag, and bowed very low. "I think it's leaving."

Remus smiled as Sirius settled back against him. "So you did what you had to do, yes? Created a Day That Was One To Remember, Extraordinary and Significant, that will stay with us For All Time?"

Sirius picked up Remus's hand and threaded their fingers together. "I think so." He didn't think anyone could forget a moment like this, consecrated in firelight, secret yet shared in the depth of a winter's evening.

And for its part The Idea watched them for a moment, smiling fondly at the picture they made. Patting its pockets and checking for things left behind, it gripped the handle of its suitcase firmly, and with a knowing wink disappeared in a cloud of joyful yellow smoke.


End file.
